


End of October

by solrosan



Series: Witches are. Witches do. [5]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: All Hallows' Eve, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Alternate Universe - Witches, Gen, Halloween, Harvestfest, M/M, Spirit World, Spirits, WITCHES AU, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: At the end of October the harvest is done and it's time to appreciate the gifts from the Earth has given. It's also the time of the year when the veil between the world and the spirit world is thin. Which makes it a perfect time to celebrate the cycle of death and rebirth.Which, of course, means decorations, food preparations, bickering and gatherings of friends and family.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin
Series: Witches are. Witches do. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553854
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The usual meta notes!
> 
> 1) If the people at Kingsman were witches, Merlin (not Arthur) would obviously be the head of the organisation  
> 2) This also means there has to be someone else training the new witches and this person has the title Morgan  
> 2½) Morgan's given name is Hilda as of now (and I love her)  
> 3) I have serious problems with all the other knights/witches names since, but Christopher is Percival

Some call it Samhain, some call it Day of the Dead, some call it All Hallows’ Eve. Some call it Halloween. They call it October 31, and Harry refuses to use black when he’s decorating, always has, always will. 

Merlin loves him for it. It doesn’t matter what anyone says, to him there’s nothing dark about death. Morgan constantly rolls her eyes at Harry, but Merlin remembers why he married him every time the man puts a deep purple draping over their home shrine instead of a black one in the middle of October.

That doesn’t mean interior design is something they always see eye to eye on.

“You know I don’t want that in my house,” says Merlin, a warning edge in his voice, as Harry places a human skull on the altar. 

“It’s always in _our_ house,” Harry says. “It is just on display for the new year.”

“You know what I mean.”

Harry sighs and turns around. “Why do you do this every year?”

“Because every year you put human remains in the sitting room!”

“And every year you cave.”

“You want me to not--”

“No, I want you to not pick this fight at all.” Harry holds his gaze for a moment, then continues much calmer, “I know you know how important this is to me -- that’s why you always give in -- so why do you keep on doing this?”

Merlin frowns, waving his hand at the remains. “It’s creepy. And it’s not-- It’s not dignified.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I didn’t mean--”

“I hope not.”

“Never mind, keep them. I won’t say another word.” 

“Hamish.”

Harry’s voice is hard. Merlin stops half-way through turning around to leave. He’s really put his foot in it this time and he knows it.

“I have never, nor will I ever desecrate human remains,” says Harry.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“So try again, what’s the problem with it?”

Merlin sighs. He looks at the skull and then back at Harry. “I didn’t want him here when he was alive, is it really that hard to understand why I don’t want him here now? He was a homophobic arse who treated you like shit.”

“He’s my dad.”

“And a homophobic arse who treated you like shit.”

Harry doesn’t move a muscle. Merlin knows the fight is lost, just as it has been the other eleven times they’ve had it. The last Earl of Norwich is safe, even though he hadn’t been the last had he not disowned his only son.

Merlin takes half-a-step closer. Harry nods, which Merlin takes as permission to hug him.

“I don’t get it,” Merlin murmurs, “but I’ll shut up about it.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m really sorry about the disrespect-thing.”

“Mm.”

They let go of each other and it’s a relief to see that Harry smiles. 

“Go get your offerings,” says Harry. “I’ll put up the candles. Maybe we can be done before MasterChef.”

“I was going to make the incense tonight.”

“Then I’ll finish Death tonight and you’ll have to do Life tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Merlin gives Harry a quick peck on the cheek. “And I don’t think it’s creepy.”

“Only a little.”

Merlin chuckles. “Fine, a little bit.”

Merlin leaves to get started on the incense for the ancestral meditation they’ll do on the morning of October 31st. He doesn’t say that one of the reasons he doesn’t like having the Earl of Norwich’s bones on the shrine is that he has promised to dance on the man’s grave on day.

* * *

Morgan stands in Kingsman’s huge kitchen, hands on her hips and a deep wrinkle between her eyebrows as she looks at the baskets of apples, pumpkins, boxes with potatoes and beats, heaps of onions and leeks...

“Harry might have a point.”

“He rarely does,” mutters Merlin as he moves a bundle of carrots from the workbench so that he can take out a cutting board. 

“Seriously, what on Earth are we good for these days?”

Merlin looks up with a deep sigh. “Don’t you start.”

“Look at it.” Morgan does a dramatic gesture over the crops. “A generation ago the harvest fest was more than, you know, food. Even when we started at least a little of this was for medicinal use.”

“I don’t have time to deal with your existential crisis.”

“I’m a woman, dearie,” says Morgan. “I can have an existential crisis and chop at the same time.”

Merlin chuckles. “Good. I’m not ready to bring in the younglings here yet.”

“Roxy’s going to be so good at this, though, I’m telling you. Eggsy you’ve lost to Harry and his romanticised melancholy--”

“Apparently I’ve lost you to that too.”

“What can I say, it’s very fashionable these days.” She bats her eyelashes. “Anyway, Roxy. I think she can be really good at this. She just needs to get over the Woman In The Kitchen bit.”

“Took you long enough.”

“Feminism is hard.”

“Try being gay under Thatcher.” 

“Who sounds like Harry now?”

Melin laughs again. “Should we perhaps shut up and work?”

“We better, don’t we? Or we’ll end up spoiling all of it with this attitude.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my attitude,” says Merlin, but he presses play on the old cassette player they have in the kitchen. The mixtape they made some twenty years ago fills the room. 

Now they can start preparing for real.


	2. October 31st

Merlin wakes up alone in their bed on October 31st. He reaches for his mobile to see what time is, 07:42. A hand on Harry’s side of the bed tells him that Harry has been up for a while already. He refrains from checking his work mail and leaves the phone on the night stand. He’s about to pull on his sweats, but then he thinks better of it and dresses in suit trousers and a shirt. 

The air is heavy with incense -- rosemary and sage, the one he’s made -- and Merlin consciously breathes through his mouth as he walks down the stairs. He goes to the kitchen and makes some toast. He finds a pot of tea with a post-it on, saying ‘Have a glass of water too‘. He smiles, pouring himself a cup, and finishes breakfast (water included) standing at the counter. 

When he’s done, he approaches the sitting room. Harry’s voice floats towards him as he lists his ancestors. This part has grown long through the years and is the reason Harry gets up earlier than Merlin for his ancestral mediation. Merlin never stops being amazed by Harry’s ability to not only connect with the spirit world, but to remember generations upon generations of people. 

The room is lit only by candle light and the grey dawn outside. In the middle, on their old rug, sits Harry with his back to the door. His back is straight, his legs crossed as if he isn’t almost sixty years old. Unwilling to disturb this phase, Merlin lingers in the door and just watches. 

"...and those whose blood runs in me, whose names I do not yet know,” Harry finishes after another few minutes. 

It becomes quiet. There’s an incredible calm in the room.

“Good morning,” Harry whispers after a moment without turning around.

Merlin takes that as an invitation to enter, he walks carefully to not disrupt the fragile atmosphere, to not scare anything or anyone away. He strokes Harry’s hair, and Harry reaches up to take his hand.

Harry opens his eyes and looks up at him. He looks completely at peace, and about a decade older. 

“You dressed up,” he notes as he looks Merlin up and down.

“If there’s even the slightest chance I’ll run into your mother…”

Harry rolls his eyes, but smiles.

“How about you? You doing alright?” asks Merlin.

Harry nods. “Do you want any help?”

“No, focus on yourself.”

Harry smiles again and turns back to face the shrine, closing his eyes. He doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand and with some effort, Merlin sits down on the floor next to him. 

Merlin takes a deep breath through his nose, finally embracing the incense. He closes his eyes as he exhales. 

“I am Hamish, only son of James and Abigail…”

When he gets as far as his great-grandfather he feels the familiar sensation of a cold draft, like passing through an air conditioner. Harry squeezes his hand to welcome him to the other side. It’s hard to keep going once he’s there, but Harry’s hand helps ground him. He reaches the end of his line, as far back as he knows it and ends the same way as Harry did.

Then he sits there, drifting slowly in the spirit world, hoping as always that his sister Judy might have time to stop by.

* * *

Harry gets up at two in the afternoon when his set alarm goes off. He’s a bit unsteady, still feeling light-headed. As much as he appreciates the long stays in the spirit world, it drains him completely. He could easily have slept for another eight hours, but it’s October 31 and the Dead is only half of the celebration in this household.

It doesn’t ease the nausea though. 

He takes a shower, feeling the life slowly coming back to him, and dresses in a suit afterwards. His hands tremble a little as he buttons the shirt. 

A wonderful smell comes from the kitchen where he can hear Merlin and Morgan discuss seating arrangements. As soon as he enters, they both turn and smile at him.

“He has risen!” says Morgan cheerfully.

“When did you get here?”

“Somewhere between his return and your return,” she says, pointing between Merlin and him with the knife she’s holding.

Merlin wipes his hands on his apron and gives Harry a kiss. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, a hand gently on his arm. “Do you want some tea?”

Harry nods, giving Merlin another kiss. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Did you meet Judy? I didn’t see her.”

“Aye, it was a good visit. Didn’t run into your mother.”

“No, I had her all to myself.”

“Did you get anything done?” asks Morgan as Harry sits down at the kitchen island.

“Oh, you know how it is…”

Morgan shudders. “Don’t remind me.”

Harry chuckles, taking the mug Merlin hands him. Morgan very rarely conducts spirit trips these days, a decision Harry respects even if he doesn’t quite understand it. They had shared a lot of time there before, but the older she had got the rarer her visits had become. He misses taking these trips with her.

“But no, I didn’t ‘get anything done,’” he says. “It’s a holiday, I’m off the clock.”

“Listen to the Earl’s son being all unionised,” says Morgan, winking at Harry and nudging Merlin in the ribs. 

“Have you talked to the Earl yet today?” Harry asks her.

“No, I’ve promised your husband to be civil.” Morgan holds up a basket of freshly baked bread to him. “Eat something, you still look pale.”

“Yes, dear.”

Morgan tuts. Harry takes the bread and then the jams Merlin slides over the kitchen island to him. He makes the sandwich, but doesn’t eat it. He’s still a bit nauseous and would rather not barf all over the dinner preparations. The tea will do for now. The other two notice, but say nothing, for which he is grateful.

Merlin and Morgan go back to making tonight’s dinner, picking up where Harry had interrupted them. Harry watches them work, hands them what he’s told, and listens as they bicker and carry on at least three different conversations at the same time. The kitchen is warm and bright and a complete contrast to the cold he left behind in the spirit world.

The only thing that’s the same is the feeling of love.

* * *

“Welcome!” The light flows outside when Harry opens the door. His smile, however, is what really brightens up the cold fall evening. “Come in.”

Roxy matches the smile, handing over the flowers she has with her. They are store bought, brought up under industrial conditions, she feels guilty about that but it would have felt worse coming empty handed. 

“Am I late?”

“No, you’re one of the few that comes during the acceptable timespan according to the invitation,” says Harry. “Morgan’s been here since I think 10 a.m. and if his track record is anything to go by, then Christopher will come two minutes after we sit down to eat. These are lovely, thank you. I’ll go to the kitchen and find a vase, you’ll go on to the sitting room.”

Roxy relaxes a little when she comes further into the house and she hears more voices. Dinner at the boss and his husband’s place… it’s a bit of a high stake situation and not being the only one there feels good.

“Oh!” says Morgan when she sees Roxy and gets up from the sofa where she’s sitting with Eggsy, Martin and Robert. “Didn’t hear the door! Hi, luv.”

She gives Roxy’s cheek a kiss and hands her a glass. “It’s non-alcoholic,” she says quietly. “I’ll make sure you’re all set tonight.”

Roxy blinks. “How did you…?”

“I’m a witch and a woman, luv, there are few things I don’t know...” She winks and adds, “Harry will probably know before the end of tonight, though. He’s annoyingly perceptive and he was on the other side for almost four hours this morning so there’s no hiding from him right now. Don’t worry, he’ll keep your secret.”

Roxy smiles weakly -- high stakes, indeed.

“Hilda! You had _one_ job!” yells Merlin from the kitchen. 

Morgan looks around. “Shit, where’s Harry?” 

“He went to put flowers in water and--”

Morgan disappears into the kitchen, leaving Roxy feeling overwhelmed. She sits down with the men around the coffee table. The older witches are trying to convince Eggsy that the skull on the shrine is Harry’s father, the late Earl of Norwich, but Eggy’s clearly not buying it. Roxy, on the other hand, can definitely see Harry being That Weird. The real question is more “Would Merlin ever allow it?”

The door to the kitchen opens and Morgan is shooing Harry into the sitting room. A lovely scent of whatever Merlin is cooking follows them. 

“Harry, that’s really your dad?” asks Eggsy and points at the skull.

“Yes,” Harry says as if it is the most normal thing in the world. It leads to a ton of follow-up questions from Eggsy that Roxy is just partly interested in hearing the answers too. She leans back -- Merlin and Harry have a ridiculously comfortable sofa -- and listens with half an ear. 

One by one the other witches arrive -- even Christopher arrives before Merlin appears in the sitting room and announces that dinner is ready. On the way to the dining room he greets everyone who has arrived while he’s been in the kitchen. 

“I heard it was your fault Harry came to the kitchen,” he says to Roxy, but before she’s able to apologise for that he continues, “Thank you for the flowers.”

The dining room is wonderfully decorated in orange, red, and purple. There are candles and fall leaves seemingly everywhere and along the walls are what must be a third of the Kingsman crops. There are apples, potatoes, grains, carrots, pumpkins, and much more.

Morgan walks around, her deep orange skirt moving far more dramatically than necessary, pouring cider into everyone’s glasses. She points at a place at the table for Roxy where the glass is already filled.

Merlin waits for them all to get settled. He stands at the head of the table, Harry to his left and Morgan on his right. He looks at them all and smiles.

“I’m so glad that you all could come and celebrate with us tonight,” he says. “It’s been a long year, a trying year filled with defeat and sorrow. I’m grateful for all your hard work, I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but we do make a difference in this world.”

He raises his glass. “To all of you.”

They raise their glasses back.

Merlin sits down when the toast is done and takes Harry’s and Morgan’s hands. They follow his lead and soon they are all joined by hand. 

“Tonight is the first of three nights, on which we celebrate the new year,” Merlin starts. “It is the end of the harvest, the last days of summer, and the cold nights wait on the other side for us. The bounty of our labour, the abundance of the harvest, the success of the hunt, all lies before us. We thank the earth for all it has given us this season, and yet we look forward to winter, a time of sacred darkness.”

They sit in silence for a moment, heads bowed. There’s a sense of peace and tranquillity filling the room. A sense of love. When they let go, Merlin once again raises his glass in a silent toast.

“Now, let’s eat,” he says. 

And with that, the calm is gone. In an instance at least four different topics of conversation are picked up, spoons hit pots as they help themselves to food, bread baskets are passed around, someone drops a fork and Harry has to fetch a new one… The calm might be gone, but the love is still there. 

Roxy fills her plate, feeling more sure about her decisions in life than she has in a long time. This will be a good year, she knows it.


End file.
